


Heaviside Academy

by starry_eyes



Category: Cats - Andrew Lloyd Webber, Old Possum's Book of Practical Cats - T. S. Eliot
Genre: F/F, F/M, High School AU, M/M, jock tugger, nerd mistoffelees, technically a 6th form au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-24
Updated: 2017-08-14
Packaged: 2018-08-24 11:49:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,418
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8371219
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starry_eyes/pseuds/starry_eyes
Summary: Tugger's in denial, Bombalurina's in denial, and everyone's preparing for the Jellicle Ball ... Growing up is hard. (Rating is subject to change.)





	1. Late

“Tugger, why do you _insist_ on driving like a boy racer every morning? Oh, wait, it’s because you _always_ make us late because you spend too much time styling your mane and not enough time revising!” Bombalurina chided from the back seat of the battered TSE 1 as she was tossed about by the reckless steering.

Rum Tum Tugger rolled his eyes with a smug smile, swerving and veering round the corner.

“Bombie, baby, can the nagging wait until after we get to class?” He braked suddenly and she swore, to which he responded with a chuckle. “Anyway, it’s not like Dad’s gonna care. We’re not that late. We’re fashionably late, in fact.”

Irritably, she huffed, folded her arms, and leaned back in her seat.

“I care.”

“Registration isn’t even over yet,” Alonzo, who was riding shotgun, pointed out. “Look, Bomba, Victoria and Mistoffelees are late, too.”

Tugger smirked and leaned out the window whilst Bombalurina flicked her tail in annoyance.

“How come you’re tardy then? _Surely_ the magical, marvellous Mr Mistoffelees could teleport his way to school?” he called to the tom, who looked uninterested with whatever he had to say.

“ _Surely_ the flirtatious, boring Rum Tum Tugger could go find someone else to annoy?” Mistoffelees responded dryly, continuing to walk alongside his sister. Bombalurina stifled a giggle before checking her phone.

“Tugger, we should have been there twenty minutes ago!” He sighed and pressed down on the accelerator, throwing the passengers back in their seats.

“See ya later, sparkles!” he yelled, grinning. In the wing mirror, he could see Mistoffelees scowling, and he laughed obnoxiously.

 

Tires screeched as Tugger pulled up to the front gates of Heaviside Academy. Bombalurina and Alonzo unbuckled their seatbelts and bolted across the playing field, bags bouncing on their shoulders. While they hurried to class, Tugger lounged in his seat, in no particular rush.

“Don’t I get a kiss goodbye?” he shouted to the retreating figure of his mate. She stuck her middle fingers up, not looking back.

 

An hour later, Tugger strolled into class – Food Technology with Jennyanydots – and chaos ensued. Etcetera, who had missed her beloved rockstar, screamed and shrieked like a groupie until Electra shoved a muffin in her mouth; Demeter, on the other hand, went quiet, and whispered something in Victoria’s ear whilst pointedly glaring at him; and Pouncival nearly fell out of his chair upon seeing him come through the door (Tugger was sure he had a thing for him).

“And just what do you think you’re doing?” inquired Jennyanydots in a dangerously low voice.

Tugger simply shrugged in response, earning a titter from his fan club and a huff from Demeter. Jennyanydots mumbled something angrily in German – probably expletives – and asked him again. This time, he gave a proper answer:

“I was busy restyling my mane. Gotta dress to impress, you know?” He accented his sentence with finger guns and a wink directed at Etcetera, and she squealed so hard that the class thought she might burst a blood vessel.

“Do you value your education at _all_ , Rum Tum Tugger?” she questioned.

“Nah. I only come into school to catch a glimpse of you, darling,” teased Tugger, beaming smarmily at her.

It was at this point that she exploded and sent him to the head teacher’s office with an angry wave of the spoon she was holding; Coricopat and Tantomile slyly remarked that it was a wonder she hadn’t knocked him out with it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anyway, this is an INCREDIBLY shameless AU for my two OTPs (Tuggoffelees and Bombameter - is that even their ship name ??). It probably makes little to no sense but oh well.
> 
> Also, to avoid any confusion - Old Deuteronomy is the father of Grizabella, Macavity, Munkustrap, and Tugger (born in that order); Coricopat and Tantomile are twins (obviously); Mungojerrie and Rumpelteazer are twins; Electra and Etcetera are sisters; and Exotica and Cassandra are cousins.


	2. Father Knows Best

Old Deuteronomy sighed as he saw his youngest son sidle into his office and looked up from the paperwork scattered across the desk.

“Tugger.”

Taking off his reading glasses, he smiled wearily. He was getting too old for this.

“I wasn’t even that late this time,” he protested, scuffing his boots on the discoloured, out-of-date carpet.

“I didn’t say anything about that.” He gestured to a blue plastic chair. “Sit down.”

Tugger reluctantly took a seat, fidgeting under his father’s watchful grey eyes.

“Has something been troubling you as of late?”

“No, Dad, I’m fine. No need to turn this into a therapy session; just give me a detention and let me go back to class.”

Deuteronomy chuckled at his son’s flippant attitude and then leaned forward in his chair.

“How are things between you and Bombalurina?”

Tugger’s eyes widened for a split second as he asked the question; clearly, he had struck a nerve, but the stubborn cat would never let any weakness show.

“They’re good,” Tugger mumbled.

“Tugger, I know you seem to think that I don’t know a thing about love, but you seem to forget I had … what is it they say? Ninety-nine wives. Of course, that’s not true, but I did have my fair share of mates in my time.”

There was a brief pause as he waited for his son to speak, but he said nothing, just put one of his feet up on the chair whilst staring down at the garish carpet.

“I have heard the rumours, Tugger, that she isn’t happy, and that you don’t seem happy either. Are these rumours baseless?”

Another pause. Then, Tugger shook his head.

“We’ve been arguing a lot, recently. It’s my fault.”

“Why do you think it’s your fault?”

“Well … I’m too … ‘facetious’” – Old Deuteronomy raised his eyebrows – “in Bombie’s words, not mine. I dismiss the problems she has with us with a flirty comment or an innuendo because … I guess I just don’t know how to fix the problems.”

He was still refusing to meet his father’s eyes; Deuteronomy knew that it was difficult for his son to open up about his issues. Demeter frequently called the tom ‘emotionally constipated’, and his father was inclined to agree.

“Do you _want_ to fix the problems though?”

Tugger looked up. His mouth was turned down in an uncharacteristic frown, miles away from his usual impish grin.

“What do you mean?” he asked slowly.

Leaning back in his chair, Old Deuteronomy scratched himself with his claws thoughtfully.

“I meant what I said. Do you want to try and fix the problems and stay in what may seem like a comfortable, simple relationship, or do you love her enough to let her go?”

“Dad, do you think for once you could stop with the cryptic stuff?”

He smiled and put his reading glasses back on.

“Get back to class, Tugger. Oh, and apologise to Jenny when you do.”

Rising from his seat, he rolled his eyes, back to his old self. Deuteronomy gave great advice, but in a way meant to make the advised have to figure it out before they could act on said advice, something that annoyed the hell out of Tugger. Why couldn’t he just say what he meant instead of giving him a riddle to solve?

 

When he entered class again, his demeanor was different; his shoulders were slightly hunched and he was trying to look anywhere other than his classmates’ eyes that followed him silently, bar from some curious whispers.

“You’re back,” said Jennyanydots, without turning from mixture that she was whisking furiously.

“Yeah, uh, I’m sorry about earlier.”

She looked up at him, shook her head softly, and gestured for him to go sit down. He was about to, but, to his dismay, the only seat available was next to Victoria and Demeter; he looked helplessly to Admetus, who simply shrugged in response, and began his walk of shame across the classroom to his seat. Demeter curled her lip and Victoria wrinkled her nose in annoyance as they both realised that Tugger would have to sit with them.

“Anyone want to swap places with me?” Demeter muttered; Jennyanydots heard and raised an eyebrow sharply at the queen before going back to her demonstration on how to make sweet and savoury muffins.

The tension in the class was palpable; Demeter and Tugger had never been on good terms and it was doubtful that they ever would be. She found him unbearable at the best of times – he found her whiney.

They proved their contempt for the other by eyeing them up with a snarl on their face, whilst their friends looked on with varying expressions of excitement and concern, anticipating a fight, but were both disappointed and relieved when Tugger merely sat down, crossing his legs coolly.

“Chill out, Demi,” he teased, earning a growl from the queen, “I’m sure you can cope with the Rum Tum Tugger for half an hour."

She turned her back on him, and resumed murmuring to Victoria, as she had been earlier, occasionally throwing a glance over her shoulder with a withering look. It was blatant that the conversation was about the tom next to her. He tried to remain unbothered by it, focusing instead on the lesson that Jennyanydots was giving, but it was dull as hell; he knew how to make ready-meals, and that was enough for him. Eventually, frustration bubbled up inside him as the non-stop wittering continued. Before he could stop himself, he swivelled on his chair to face Demeter.

“You do realise that if you’re talking behind someone’s back, you’re supposed to be discreet about it, right? You keep turning around to stare at me. I’m not completely oblivious,” he snapped. Victoria’s white fur flushed pink and Demeter tensed up, not realising that she had been so obvious.

“That’s debatable,” she retorted childishly, clenching her paws.

Jennyanydots interrupted them with a loud “Shh!” and so they both lowered their voices, heatedly mumbling.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I _mean,_ you’re completely oblivious when it comes to Bomba! You make her feel like shit but you clearly don’t see that.”

The comment was like a well-aimed kick to his stomach and it left him winded. Demeter knew exactly how to hurt him. However, the mention of Bombalurina made him think back to what Old Deuteronomy had said just fifteen minutes before – _“Do you want to try and fix the problems and stay in what may seem like a comfortable, simple relationship, or do you love her enough to let her go?”_ – and he had a moment of realisation. He needed to break it off with her before he made things any worse.

“That’s not true,” he said, despite knowing she was right; he wasn’t going to lose an argument to her.

“It is, and you know it is. You’re so _arrogant_.”

“Alright, so what if I am? At least I admit to it!”

“Rum Tum Tugger and Demeter! Do I have to split the two of you up?” Jennyanydots barked.

“Please …” Victoria muttered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jennyanydots is pretty much my old science teacher. :')


	3. Play of the Match

By Thursday, the news had reached the whole school – the power couple that was Rum Tum Tugger and Bombalurina had broken up. To the shock of many, word had travelled through whispers and mutterings that they had agreed to remain friends, something that was practically unheard of for Tugger; he had a fling, he’d break it off to go be with someone else, and forget the other cat had ever existed. The two were still friends, and close friends at that.

“I just don’t get it,” lamented Demeter to Victoria, “I mean, do you reckon they’re still … you know, like, not together-together, but –“

Victoria interrupted her with a snort of laughter.

“Why do you care all of a sudden? I thought you hated Tugger.”

There was an awkward silence as the tortie’s fur bristled and she blushed. It took a moment for it to sink in, but then:

“Wait! Dem, do you have a thing for –?”

“Shut up, Victoria.” she glowered dangerously. The white cat held her hands up in mock-surrender and smiled uneasily, wounded by her friend’s tone. Demeter was usually aggressive to toms such as Admetus and Tugger, but never to her.

“B-But do you? I won’t judge if you do…” said Victoria in a hushed voice, ears twitching in case anyone was over-hearing anything that was being discussed. Demeter lowered her head.

“Yes.” she murmured softly. She wrung her paws and bit her lip. It felt as if admitting to her feelings for Bombalurina was an admittance of guilt; no other cat in the school loved their best friend who they’d known since kittenhood. Or if they did, they hadn’t stupidly blurted it out to one of their friends.

“Aw, Dem! That’s so cute!” Victoria squealed, “You’d make such a good couple!”

Demeter’s ears flattened against her head and she scanned the corridor agitatedly.

“Will you keep your voice down?” she snapped through gritted teeth, grabbing the white cat by her shoulders; “I don’t want anyone to earwig.”

Victoria nodded whilst attempting to wiggle out of her friend’s strong grasp; the tortoiseshell was tougher than she appeared.

Then, everything froze. Demeter’s eyes grew wide with alarm and her tail prickled as she sensed a familiar presence; Victoria noticed her distress and panic took over her, too.

“Macavity!” she hissed.

She turned in time to see a ginger tail disappear around the corner of the lockers. Her chest tightened and she felt her lungs gasp for air like she’d been submerged under icy water. Bile rose in her throat; she choked it back down. Sliding down the lockers onto the floor, Demeter was gulping and trembling, and Victoria, unsure of what to do, sat down next to her. Tears rolled down her cheeks and she slashed at Victoria’s paw when she tried to wipe them away.

“Dem, what’s wrong?” asked Victoria, her voice shaking. In answer, Demeter put her head in her knees and wailed.

 

Meanwhile, Rum Tum Tugger was at football practice, doing what he did best; chatting up the cats who came to spectate, whilst all the other players were warming up, stretching out their muscles so they didn’t strain anything.

Munkustrap blew a whistle and shot Tugger a glare when he jumped at the shrill signal.

“Quit flirting and start warming up.”

He groaned and bent over to hold his ankles, winking through his legs at the cats sat in the stalls, who squealed and twittered at the sight. Then, he ran off, laughing, to do laps around the field as Alonzo beckoned him over with a concerned frown on his face.

“So, you and Bombalurina broke up yesterday?” said the bicolour tom, wasting no time with a greeting; “What did you say? How did she take it?”

“Yeah. It was okay, actually; I just said that I didn’t want to hurt her any more than I already had, and that it’d be better if we ended things.” Tugger shrugged as if it was no big deal. “She took it well. We’re still friends.”

Alonzo raised his eyebrows incredulously.

“Are you having a laugh?”

He shook his head and smiled.

“I’m being dead serious.”

“Shut up, you tosser. You’re joking.”

“I’m not!” protested Tugger, speeding up to outrun his friend. “She genuinely took it well!”

 

Meanwhile, Mistoffelees watched from the stands, scowling miserably; he had been forced into staying, as Bill Bailey, who was supposed to be giving him a lift home, had decided to watch the team practicing (and NOT because Tugger was there, thanks very much). The tux could have been doing a number of more important – more interesting – things with his evening, like revising for the science test tomorrow, or choreographing a routine for the upcoming Jellicle Ball in two months (Hop, step, ball-change, five fouetté pirouettes – no, no, that wouldn’t work –). Speaking of which, it seemed that the Jellicle Ball was a main topic of conversation amongst the other toms and queens spectating; Mistoffelees listened in, wondering what everyone else’s plans were.

“I just don’t know who to ask,” lamented Electra, wringing her tail, “Like, I mean, I would ask Tugger, but he’s probably already got a date. I mean, maybe Admetus –“

“No, you can’t ask him!” gasped Etcetera. “He’s got a HUUUUUUGE crush on Vic! And she likes him back! You can’t!”

Mistoffelees smiled softly; he knew Admetus and Victoria would make a good couple – yet he couldn’t help but feel slightly bitter that his sister would go to the ball with a date and he wouldn’t. Trying to be inconspicuous, he leaned forward, invested in the discussions around him. He heard Mungojerrie and Rumpelteazer snicker – they were probably organising some prank that had the potential to ruin the future Prom King or Prom Queen’s social life forever – and Munkustrap, unfocused on his job as refereeing the match, was chatting amicably with Jemima about who she was going to dance with. He couldn’t help but wonder to himself who Tugger would go with now that he had broken things off with Bombalurina – maybe Cassandra? The two seemed to spend enough time together. Why did he care, anyway? It wasn’t his concern; he just needed to work on his choreography for his solo.

Whilst running and calling out to Pouncival to pass him the ball, Tugger noticed a small tuxedo cat sat at the top of the stands, looking bored and as if he was ready to go home. He smirked; Mistoffelees seemed like he was deliberately not meeting the Maine Coon’s eyes.

“What’s the matter, Sparkles?” he hollered, resulting in an embarrassed flush covering the other cat’s cheeks. His ears flattened down against his head; Tugger sure knew how to frustrate him.

Munkustrap, upon hearing his brother heckling the tom, blew his whistle and swatted at Tugger’s head when he sprinted by.

“Leave him alone, you idiot.” he hissed. Tugger just rolled his eyes in response, planning on doing the exact opposite.

When the ball was next passed to him, Tugger didn’t dribble it down the pitch, or kick it to a team mate, or into the net – instead, he turned to the stands and booted it in the direction of Mistoffelees with a cry of “Heads up!” The ball grazed the fur on his head, overshot by a few inches. All of the Rum Tum Tugger’s fanclub burst into laughter and whooping, with the exception of Victoria and Jemima, who seemed concerned for Mistoffelees – they immediately clambered over seats to check if he was alright. He swatted them away before the ball flew into the air hurtled back towards Tugger, knocking him straight in the stomach and winding him.

There was a pause as everyone looked from Mistoffelees to Tugger, attempting to understand what had just happened. Then, utter chaos.

“What the hell, Tugger –“

“Misto, are you –“

“Is Tugger –“

“What just happened?”

Cats rushed every which way, some to the tux in the stands who was trembling with a mix of anger and adrenaline, some to the Maine Coon on the pitch who was clutching his stomach, and some to Jennyanydots’ office (as well as teaching Food Tech, she was also skilled in music, knitting, and first aid). Munkustrap tried to calm everyone down, especially the younger ones such as Electra and Etcetera, but failed miserably. He was relieved when Jenny came rushing out of the school with an ensemble of students desperately scurrying after her.

“Is everybody okay?” she asked, producing a first aid kit. The Rum Tum Tugger facetiously gave her a thumbs up, doubled over and gasping for breath.

“Juss … winded. Tha’s all.”

She nodded but still went over to him to check for any other injuries that may not have been so obvious; after a couple of minutes of poking and prodding and questioning, satisfied that he was okay, she went back inside to continue marking essays on correct hygiene around food.

The commotion died down to frantic whisperings and Munkustrap felt like clawing his eyes out. It looked like there would be no finishing the match tonight because everyone was far too distracted.

“Alright, everybody go home.” he said resignedly. “Next practice is after school on Monday! Make sure to be there on your best behaviour.”

The last sentence, obviously, was directed at his younger brother, who pouted like butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth.

 

“Misto, I can’t believe you just used your magic,” Victoria scolded Mistoffelees, scratching herself anxiously with her claws, “And on the Rum Tum Tugger, too! The head teacher’s son! Are you completely mad?”

“He threatened me.”

“The ball missed. Plus, you didn’t have to stoop to his level.”

“Oh Bast, you sound like Jenny.” he shot back, brushing down his fur so that it lay flat. “Besides, no one noticed I was using magic. They probably just thought that someone was hiding behind the stands and threw it back.”

“Yeah, and my name’s Griddlebone.”

The two glowered at each other in the way that siblings tend to do as they refused to back down. However, Victoria did have a point; someone had noticed the ball go flying back through the air without any physical interference – a cruel smile had played on his lips when he’d realised that he wasn’t the only one with such powers, before slinking back into his hiding spot underneath the seats, unnoticed by any of the cats there.

“Hey, Quaxo, are you ready to go?” interrupted Bill Bailey, impatiently jangling his car keys. Mistoffelees cringed at the kittenhood nickname and Victoria stifled a giggle, their earlier anger with each other quickly forgotten.

“I told you not to call me that!” he cried indignantly as he pounced down the steps and onto the brown cat. They tussled on the pitch for a while until they realised they were both getting covered in dirt and their fur was tinged green at the ends from the grass. Victoria, on the other hand, carefully made her way down.

“You two act like kittens when you’re together.” she teased gently, shifting her bag onto her shoulder with a wince – it was heavier than it looked.

“Hypocrite! Have you seen you and Jemima together?” The toms smirked and put on their best impressions of the queens, tittering and whispering and making a quip about Victoria’s crush on Admetus.

“Shut uuup,” she groaned, giving them both a good-natured shove, “Anyway, I’d love to stay and listen to you guys take the piss out of me for longer, but I promised Demeter that I’d go talk to her about something. It seemed urgent.”

“Oh, I was just about to ask if you wanted a lift –“

“No, no, it seemed really, really urgent. I need to go see her.”

And with that, she rushed off, jogging across the pitch with her bag bouncing on her arm. The two toms were left to puzzle over what could possibly be so pressing that Demeter needed to speak to her immediately.

 

“Surely Dem would speak to Bombalurina? I always thought they were closer.” Mistoffelees pondered from the front passenger seat of the NAP 70. He couldn’t wait until he could drive, he thought to himself, because he hated relying on Bill Bailey for lifts – he was a total slob. The car seats were covered in crumbs and other questionable substances and the floor was littered with packets of crisps and sweet wrappers. “You really need to clean your car.”

“Yeah, I know,” responded Bailey in answer to his friend’s second statement, “And yeah, it seems kind of off to me. Do you reckon they’ve had an argument or something?”

“About what? They’ve never had an argument, ever.”

“Maybe it was about Tugger,” suggested Bailey, though he didn’t seem sure. Mistoffelees made a noncommittal noise in reply. “Okay, well, it probably wasn’t that. But what else would it have been about?”

Mistoffelees shrugged.

“I’m not a mind reader.”

“Maybe we could ask Corico and Tanto.”

“Bill, we can’t just go prying. I’m sure they’ll sort it out. It might not even be about Bombalurina.” Mistoffelees pointed out, unbuckling his seatbelt and opening the door as the car came to an abrupt stop. “I’ll ask Vic tonight, although whether she’ll actually tell me or not, I don’t know.”

“Alright. See you tomorrow.”

“See you tomorrow. Thanks for the lift.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorryyyyyyy I know this is super late! I've been working on this fanfiction as often as I can (and even when I shouldn't be, like in class ...) but I'm really busy with sixth form and dance class and CHRISTMAS SHOPPING UGHHHHH. But anyway, it's here now. Yeah.


	4. Confessions

When Victoria arrived at Demeter’s house, which was luckily only three blocks away from Heaviside Academy, she was quickly ushered in by the tortoiseshell. She noticed with some alarm that the fur on her face was damp with tears. As soon as she was through the door, Demeter enveloped her in a bone-crushing hug and sobbed into her shoulder, leaving a snail-trail of snot on her fur. Victoria awkwardly patted her on the back, unsure of what to do – just a few hours ago, she had been swiped at for trying to give her physical reassurance, but now she was trapped in an embrace.

“Are you okay?” she asked as soon as she had been released; Demeter’s eyes filled with tears again which threatened to spill over.

“I – I … Sorry,” Demeter squeaked, her voice cracking with emotion. Victoria couldn’t figure out what on earth had made her like this. Looking back on it, she didn’t think she’d ever seen her friend even cry once before that day, not even when her mum had died – so why was she so distressed?

“Don’t apologise. Something bad’s obviously happened – you don’t need to apologise for being upset about it.”

Demeter bit her lip, which was already cracked and bloody, and managed a small nod in return. Wordlessly, she led Victoria upstairs to her bedroom and threw herself onto the bed, gesturing for the white cat to do the same. She perched daintily on the edge, placing her bag on the floor next to her. Anxiously, the tortie started to pull at a loose thread on the blanket with her claw, apprehensive about Victoria’s reaction to what she was about to confess.

“Vic, I … first, I wanted to apologise about earlier. At school. I, um, shouldn’t have lashed out.”

“It’s fine, Dem. Like I said, something terrible must be bothering you,” Victoria replied with a weak smile.

“S-Secondly, I …” Her words got stuck in her throat and were replaced by a choking moan. Her breath hitched and it felt like her heart would burst out of her chest – she couldn’t breathe, oh Bast, she couldn’t breathe, it hurt – “Macavity, he, I, th-that party of youuurs …”

The last word of the sentence was like the whine of a kicked Pollicle. Demeter was gasping and gulping desperately for air at this point, completely overwhelmed by sobs. Victoria shuffled closer to her on the bed and grasped her hands and squeezed.

“Dem. Dem! Please calm down. Please! I don’t know what you’re trying to say.” Her reasoning had little effect on her and she continued to hyperventilate. “Dem, please, you’re safe, I promise you’re safe. Please just tell me what happened.”

“I’m n-not! I’m not, I’m not, I’m not,” she panted, scraping her chest in anguish. “He said – he said he’d hurt me. I can’t tell you.”

“Why would Macavity hurt you?”

The queen couldn’t understand why Demeter was so worked up – sure, the ginger tom was a bit of an outcast and a bully, but she couldn’t see him doing anything that would warrant a reaction like this. The tortoiseshell inhaled deeply, shuddering, and hiccupped before continuing.

She said something unintelligible; she couldn’t bear to say it. If she said it, it would be real, and she couldn’t deal with that.

“Sorry, what was that?” Victoria asked gently.

“He t-took advantage o-of me,” she wailed, and started to cry again, even harder than the last time. Victoria gasped, her brows furrowing.

“You mean he –?” She broke off as Demeter fixed her with a fearful gaze through her tears, wordlessly begging her not to make her say it.

Victoria didn’t know how to respond, so she just blurted out the first thing that came to her mind:

“I’m sorry.”

Then:

“I’m so, so sorry. Oh Bast, Demeter …”

She didn’t know why she was apologising, but it felt like the right thing to do. Like she was offering condolences for Demeter’s loss. Her loss of innocence. Her loss of the ability to even look in Macavity’s direction without trembling in fear.

Demeter turned her eyes to the floor, which was suddenly immensely more important than the conversation she was having. The fur on her face was matted and wet from crying so much and she tried to rub herself dry with her paws; there was no point in it as she continued to snivel miserably. Victoria flung her arms around her and rubbed her back as she convulsed and whimpered at the memory of what had happened.

“You’re so easy, aren’t you?” he had said as he forced her down onto the bed. “You’re practically begging me to fuck you right now.”

_Am I though? Did I really?_ she bitterly asked herself as she cried into Victoria’s shoulder.

 

It had gotten dark by the time Victoria dragged herself home, the streets almost empty bar from a few rats scurrying in the gutters. Throughout the entire walk back, she couldn’t help but feel disgusted at what she had heard; she knew that Macavity was a criminal, but she had never realised he could be capable of something like that. She hated that it was at her house, in her bed, even, that he had defiled one of her best friends. Her stomach churned at the thought.

She unlocked the door and pushed it open listlessly, to find Mistoffelees sat on the couch waiting for her.

“You didn’t answer your phone,” he said, a hint of worry in his voice. “I figured I’d sit up and wait for you before I set out to Demeter’s to check on you.”

Victoria pulled her phone out of her bag. Four missed calls and twenty-two text messages. She grimaced apologetically.

“Sorry, Misto. It’s just … Demeter’s in a really bad way.”

Mistoffelees’ blue eyes were filled with concern and his eyebrows furrowed.

“What do you mean?”

“She … ugh. I don’t even know how to explain it. It’s not good though.”

Emotionally and physically exhausted, Victoria fell onto the couch next to her brother and curled her legs around to get comfortable, before launching into the story that Demeter had told her.

“… It sounded awful. I just spent most of my time hugging her or apologising because I didn’t even know what to do to make her stop crying,” she lamented.

Mistoffelees said nothing, just nodded like he was in a trance. He couldn’t even comprehend how he was related to such calm and collected cats like Munkustrap and Old Deuteronomy, or even to the rather obnoxious Rum Tum Tugger.

“I just don’t know why he would do that,” she continued, at the stage of tiredness where she was rambling unnecessarily.

“Vic,” said Mistoffelees gently, placing a paw on her shoulder as he stood up, “I think you need to go to bed. Staying up and worrying about the situation isn’t going to help. Get some sleep.”

Right on cue, she yawned, and so decided to take her older brother’s advice and wearily trudged up to her bedroom, abandoning her school bag in the living room. He followed suite soon after, but found that when he had snuggled up under the blankets, his eyes were wide open and his mind and heart were racing. For whatever reason, he just couldn’t get the Rum Tum Tugger off his brain. Maybe it was because of the earlier event at the football practice, or maybe it was because of something else, but he was the only thing that Mistoffelees could think about. Although, his Uncle Bustopher had once said to Victoria that “if a tom keeps picking on you, it means he likes you” … But maybe that was only applicable to queens. Besides, Bustopher preferred food to other cats and hadn’t been able to hold down a mate for years. Perhaps it wasn’t the best advice. Why did he care if Tugger liked him, anyway? He definitely wasn’t interested …

And yet, he couldn’t stop thinking about him. About how sweet his smile was, how attractive it was when he growled when he sang, how he would sound moaning Mistoffelees’ name – Mistoffelees blushed and hoped that he wouldn’t bump into Coricopat or Tantomile any time soon.

Okay, so maybe he was interested. He didn’t know if Tugger felt the same though; his teasing could just have been because Mistoffelees was fun to target due to his reserved personality, though he was sure that he wouldn’t say no if a cat said they wanted to f – _no way, absolutely not, shut up Mistoffelees, he’s probably straight_.

 

The tux stared blankly up at the ceiling, covered in glow-in-the-dark stars that he hadn’t bothered to take down from when he was a kitten. Well, he _said_ that he just hadn’t gotten round to it yet, but they were really quite comforting to look at when sleep was an impossibility. He laid like that for a while, wishing sleep could creep up on him and smother him. His eyes burned. He was desperately tired, though the realisation that he had a crush was unwelcome and kept him awake. And out of all the cats to fancy, it just had to be the one that was a renowned flirt and a tease. He was bound to break his heart.

It was about 3am when he crawled under floral blankets to snuggle next to Victoria like she used to do to him after she’d had a bad dream. He wasn’t surprised to find her awake, staring at the ceiling as he’d just done for the past couple of hours. Disturbed from her reverie, she jumped when Mistoffelees grabbed one of her paws in his and gave it a reassuring squeeze.

“What are you doing?” she asked, returning the squeeze and rolling onto her side to face him.

“Couldn’t sleep. … Tom problems,” he added hesitantly. Victoria pulled a disgusted grimace.

“I don’t wanna know.”

Confused, Mistoffelees stared down at the duvet for a minute or two before he realised what his sister had meant.

“I don’t mean like that!” he cried, giving her a hard shove that nearly sent her sprawling out of bed, “I meant, like, you know, a crush …”

Victoria pushed him back twice as hard and pulled the blankets off of him, reclaiming her bed.

“Who’s the lucky queen?” she asked. Mistoffelees opened his mouth and closed it a couple of times, like a goldfish, and stared vacantly in the opposite direction to her.

“It’s …”

“Oh, wait, wait, let me guess! Is iiiit … Electra?”

He huffed and waited for her to reel off a list of names of all of the queens in the school. When she was done, he turned to her, looking her dead in the eye.

“Vic. If you’d have let me explain, I would’ve told you that it’s not a queen.”

“Then is it … the Rum Tum Tugger?”

Mistoffelees, shocked at her spot-on guess, covered his face with his paws to hide the fact that he was blushing intensely.

“Doesn’t everyone?” she said innocently.

“Define ‘everyone’.”

“Me, Jemima, Electra, Etcetera, Admetus, Tumblebrutus, Pouncival …” she listed.

“Yeah, but you’re all still kittens. That’s different.”

“I’m gonna be a queen soon, Misto!” Victoria cried indignantly.

“Even so …” he mumbled, chewing one of his claws in thought. This crush on Tugger wasn’t some silly kittenhood obsession to be giggled over with his silly kitten friends. He didn’t actively seek out Tugger to stare at his ass from an uncomfortably close distance and fall at his feet every time he spoke like Etcetera and some of the others did. In actual fact, Tugger sought him out majority of the time to pick on him – surely that had to mean something?

 

“So, why are you still awake, anyway? Worrying about Demeter?” asked Mistoffelees, tentatively pulling at the corner of the blankets to cover his feet. Victoria, surprisingly, shook her head.

“Tom problems, actually,” she responded. She ran a paw through the fur on her head, meeting her brother’s sapphire eyes with a grin.

“Admetus?”

She nodded and scratched the back of her neck with a tense white paw. Then, she opened her mouth to speak, but was swiftly interrupted by Mistoffelees.

“Just ask him to the Ball. There’s no point fretting about it,” he said matter-of-factly – Victoria rolled her eyes, mostly because she knew he was right – “Besides, it’s blatantly obvious that he likes you back.”

“Really?” she mumbled with an air of disinterest, although deep down, she was overwhelmed with joy. Her stomach filled with butterflies at the prospect of performing a pas-de-deux with the tom that she’d had a crush on since, well, forever. This was the only chance she would ever get to confess to him – he was moving to a different college in September whilst she was staying on at Heaviside for sixth form.

“Well, learn to take your own advice,” she retorted. Whilst she said it snappily, she really did want things to work out for Mistoffelees. He was her big brother, after all.

He simply sputtered in response, and climbed out of bed to go back to his own room, mumbling a ‘Goodnight’ in Victoria’s direction. She repeated him and snuggled deeper into the pillow, biting into it to muffle her squealing because Admetus _liked_ her.

In contrast, Mistoffelees face-planted into his bed, snuggled into the pillow and bit into it while letting out a muffled scream because he _liked_ Tugger.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am suffering. This fanfic ruined my life. I've written over 6000 words and I'm still nowhere near to the main bits of the story. Send help.
> 
> Hope you guys enjoy it anyway!


	5. How Misto Got His First Ever Detention

The journey to school the next day was incredibly awkward for Mistoffelees. Victoria, exhausted by her late night, had overslept her alarm and he couldn’t bear to wake her up when she looked so comfortable and peaceful, so he was walking on his own, praying that Tugger wouldn’t drive past.

An engine backfired somewhere in the distance, making Misto’s tail bristle. Speak of the devil. The tuxedo stroked the fur on his tail flat apprehensively and kept walking, albeit a little more stiffly now. The purr of the car grew closer and, out of the corner of his eye, Mistoffelees spotted the TSE 1 creeping beside him. The Rum Tum Tugger slowed the battered car to a stop and Misto tensed, expecting an insult.

“You want a lift?” he asked, leaning out of the window. The retort that Mistoffelees had been preparing died on his lips.

“I … you … what?” he answered dumbly.

“Do you want a lift?” Tugger repeated, a familiar cheeky grin on his face. Mistoffelees didn’t know what to make of this; was this a set up to a prank?

“I … I mean, I guess that’d be nice …” Misto mumbled, barely audible over the clacking of the engine. He scanned the passengers – Alonzo was, unusually, sat in the back seat and Bombalurina was nowhere to be seen. Probably with Demeter, he thought.

Tugger beckoned to the front passenger seat and he anxiously made his way round the car before opening the door and placing his bag on the floor. Mistoffelees then sat himself down, all the while avoiding eye contact with the other two cats in the car. Before he had even had a chance to put his seatbelt on, Tugger stepped on the gas pedal and the car went shooting forward, nearly sending him lurching out of his seat.

“Whoops – sorry!” said Tugger cheerfully, with one hand on the steering wheel and the other adjusting the mirror. Both of the black and white cats in the car rolled their eyes.

“By the way,” Tugger continued, addressing Mistoffelees, “I’m sorry about yesterday. Totally wasn’t thinking, y’know?”

The tux forced a smile.

“It’s fine. I should apologise too, for hitting you so hard …”

Tugger waved a paw in the air.

“Don’t mention it.”

When he said that, it was more out of wounded pride than anything; he had tried to keep a brave face during the ordeal, but had a pretty low pain tolerance. He’d rather not have anyone bring it up again.

The vehicle went silent as the passengers and driver struggled to come up with a topic of conversation. It was Alonzo who spoke after a few minutes of awkwardness.

“So, where’s Victoria today?”

“Oh, uh, she’s probably still asleep. I left a note telling her to make some toast or something.”

Alonzo nodded, and the car lapsed into silence once more. Mistoffelees was beginning to think he might as well have walked on his own; he probably would’ve been on time, too. It wasn’t that he was shy – though most students thought he was – but he just couldn’t come up with any  _ riveting _ conversation starters, especially in front of his crush. They didn’t really have many interests in common, except dancing, but Mistoffelees was more of a contemporary dancer whereas Tugger was just … crude.

An idea popped into his head.

“Uh, have you got anyone in mind to, um, accompany you to the Jellicle Ball?” Mistoffelees asked, immediately cursing himself for sounding so formal.

“Why, who’s askin’?” Tugger replied self-assuredly.

“Most of the school, by this point,” laughed Alonzo, flicking his ear nervously. He had his own plans for the Ball and he wasn’t sure Tugger would like them.

“Oh, no, I was just wondering!” the tux said quickly, then cursed himself again for sounding like a desperate kitten.

“Well, I mean …” Tugger paused for thought. “I  _ was  _ gonna go with Bomba, but, you know, shit happens. We’ll just have to wait and see.”

“What about you, Alonzo?” Mistoffelees queried, out of courtesy. The black and white tom shot up in his seat.

“Uh, me? I was just … well … I don’t know. I wasn’t really planning on going?” he answered weakly, and was met with disbelief. He tried to save himself.

“I, uh, I was thinking of going with … Cassandra?”

Tugger and Mistoffelees nodded in response, satisfied with the answer. Alonzo sighed in relief. He wasn’t about to tell Tugger that he was actually going with his brother, Munkustrap. The two had started seeing each other on the down-low, hiding it from Tugger and Macavity; only Old Deuteronomy knew because Alonzo had asked the elderly cat if it was okay if he took his son to the Ball.

“You got any plans for the Ball, Misto? I heard from Dad that you're doing a magic show or somethin’.” Tugger drawled.

Mistoffelees bristled, taking offence at Tugger’s comment and the use of his nickname before he realized he was just teasing.

“I guess you could say that. It’s more of a dance with some tricks thrown in,” he explained, a smile creeping onto his face. Talking about dance was one of the keys to Mistoffelees’ heart; it was the one thing in his life, aside from his sister, that he had fully dedicated himself to.

“Oh, really?” The Maine Coon looked genuinely interested. “What kind of dance?”

“Contemporary - kind of modern jazz-esque, I suppose.”

The Rum Tum Tugger nodded, drumming a beat on the steering wheel. Misto wondered if he actually knew what those words meant or whether he had just run out of things to say, which was unusual for someone like Tugger.

After a short silence, Tugger said: “Hey, if you need any backing dancers, I’d be happy to help.”

Wide-eyed and in disbelief at his crush’s kind offer, Mistoffelees could do nothing but say “Thank you” in a weak voice that sounded like it belonged to a kitten. Tugger flashed him a charming, debonair smile and Mistoffelees felt his pulse quicken and his cheeks flush. He was ensnared by the curious cat and he could definitely see why he was the object of almost every cat’s affection at Heaviside.

Mistoffelees hadn't been planning on having anyone dancing alongside him but he supposed he could make an exception for Tugger. After all, he told himself, he had been polite enough to make the offer.

 

As they finally pulled up to the school gates, after Tugger had insisted on going to the Starbucks drive-through to get himself an iced coffee, Mistoffelees heaved a sigh of relief. He made to unbuckle his seatbelt, grab his messenger bag and be on his way to class as part of the entourage of Tugger, but was maybe more surprised than he should have been to see Alonzo and Tugger making no move to get to lessons on time.

The Rum Tum Tugger raised an eyebrow, as if to say, “Leaving so soon?”

Mistoffelees sat back in his seat stiffly, not looking forward to the detention he would receive but figuring that he might as well spend as much time with his crush as possible. Was he really letting schoolwork take a back seat for some silly crush on a tom who he probably had no chance with? Uh, yes, because  _hello, it's the Rum Tum Tugger, the school's most eligible bachelor, and he's showing a mild interest in ME!_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yEAH ANYWAY UH  
> HERE HAVE THIS  
> *throws a short shitty chapter at y'all and runs away*


End file.
